


how to woo a scientist in ten days or less

by buckgaybarnes



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Awkward Flirting, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Newmann Secret Santa 2020, awkward everything, gay scientists in a lab...what will they do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:55:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28438740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckgaybarnes/pseuds/buckgaybarnes
Summary: Newton gives Hermann flowers, among other things.(newmann secret santa 2020 gift for dabney over on tumblr!)
Relationships: Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb
Comments: 9
Kudos: 65





	how to woo a scientist in ten days or less

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!!! posting in the final hours of dec 30 because i unfortunately can never be happy with anything until the final hours
> 
> this is for dabney over on tumblr, who wanted hermann hyperfocused on computer programming while newt acts cute to get his attention, fluff, and/or awkward geiszlerian flirting + embarrassed hermann. (or, in more exact words, idealGift = embarrassedHermann + awkwardGeiszlerianFlirting). i aimed for all three! i hope you like it, i love writing for these boys so much and loved writing this!!!

The bouquet appears on Hermann’s desk some time between one and two in the afternoon. Whoever pulled it together appears to know him well—well enough to be aware of the fact that he’d be vacant from the laboratory during that time (his usual lunch break, one he takes daily, _usually,_ like clockwork), allowing for a covert delivery, and well enough to select flowers that won’t set off Hermann’s allergies, but are still in the sort of color array that he finds pleasing. All equal in length, as well, which Hermann finds equally pleasing. Not even one a centimeter higher than the other. There’s a small note tied with pink string around the stems, proclaiming the bouquet to be for Hermann with a heart.

It doesn’t take much effort to determine they must be from Newton. The handwriting on the note is identical to Newton’s, for one, and Hermann saw similar string poking out of a drawer of Newton's desk yesterday. For another, Newton is all too familiar with Hermann’s hay fever, and was conspicuously absent for exactly fifteen minutes during their one-to-two lunch break (the exact length of time it would take to walk to and from the laboratory from the mess hall, with five minutes to spare). He would have the time to do it, and he would certainly know which flowers to buy.

Though Hermann thinks the most damning bit of evidence may simply be that, two days ago, Newton referred to them as _boyfriends_ , and Hermann did not correct him.

The closest thing they have to a vase in the laboratory is a rather dusty old tea kettle that was shoved out of sight the second Hermann's requisition form for an electric one was approved, so Hermann fills it with a bit of tap water from Newton’s work sink and places the flowers inside. It’ll suffice until he can find a proper one. Newton does a poor job of appearing casual at the sight of them, loitering far too long over Hermann's side of the lab, and not even pretending to feign innocence. “Do you like them?” he says. “I thought they would be a…” He trails off, and adds awkwardly, “Fun surprise?”

“Ah,” Hermann says, feeling the tips of his ears grow warm. (He can only imagine how red they're turning in his embarrassment—a terrible curse of genetics.) _Assuming_ Newton gifted him the flowers as opposed to Newton actually _confirming_ he gifted him the flowers are two very different things. No one has ever given Hermann flowers before. He’s not quite sure how he’s meant to act. “Yes. They’re nice.” He brushes his fingers over a rose, considering giving it back to Newton as a physical token of appreciation. Is that acceptable? “It was very—" He draws back quickly; he’s managed to prick the tip of his index finger on a thorn. A small pinprick of blood beads over the spot. “Oh, bugger.”

“Shit,” Newton says, and scrambles to the kitchenette a bit more urgently than a tiny cut requires, where they keep (among other things) the First Aid kit.

The flowers (still in the kettle) have wilted a week later, with Hermann having never quite remembered to give Newton one of them, though the thought often fleetingly passed him by. He keeps them on his desk for the atmosphere anyway. Newton does not outright speak of them again, but he does wander by a handful of times and pointedly stoop to smell them or hum wistfully. Hermann’s not quite sure what sort of reaction he expects. Another thank you? An offer to return the gesture?

It’s the thing you’re meant to do for someone who called himself your boyfriend, Hermann supposes. Give him even just one flower in return. Even if all Newton did—before deciding he earned the title of _boyfriend_ —was buy Hermann takeaway a few times, hold his hand in the hallways, and once fall asleep in Hermann’s bed after he walked Hermann to his bunk and was too tired from his long day to go back to his own. That was the occasion which spurned the _boyfriend_ incident, in fact. Hermann woke up with his arm curled around Newton’s waist and Newton’s product-stiff hair poking up his nose, and Newton said “Well, I guess we’re boyfriends now,” snuggled against Hermann, and then fell back asleep.

Oh well—it’s a problem to be deliberated over later. Perhaps Hermann could even make a spreadsheet for it, and a few predictive models. Hermann has never managed to successfully plot out Newton’s behavior before (and he has certainly tried), but he does always feel a bit better after making a spreadsheet and plugging a few things into it. Right now, though, Hermann has several thousand lines of coding to double-check and approve by next week, and he’s not even started. 

He makes himself a cup of tea and begins. The first few lines are accurate; the fourth has a simple typo, a _1_ instead of a _10_ , that makes Hermann roll his eyes and scoff. (Hermann could've written this all _without_ error in _half_ the time, he's sure.) The fifth is fine…the sixth…the seventh…

“Hermann?” Newton says.

Hermann snaps his eyes away from his computer. The fluorescent lights overhead have been dimmed, as they do automatically after working hours to conserve energy; his digital clock, to his surprise, is blinking _18:23_. Six hours appeared to have passed without him realizing. “What on earth are you doing on my desk?” he says to Newton.

“Trying to get your attention,” Newton says. He's perched on the edge of Hermann's desk, right overtop a bit of important paperwork, his legs dangling over the side and not quite reaching the ground. “Did it work?”

“Not really,” Hermann says.

He rubs his eyes under his glasses as Newton hops to the floor. Newton appears distinctly more, well, _comfortable_ than usual: he has thrown on an oversized MIT hoodie atop his work clothing, and one of the sleeves is tucked over his hand. His hair is devoid of any hair gel. The sight—as well as the realization that Newton is too short to have reached the ground _without_ the hopping—almost stirs something akin to affection in Hermann’s chest. “Oh,” Hermann says. “You look…er, different today.”

“Thanks,” Newton says. “You look different, too. In a good way. Is that a new glasses chain?”

Hermann shakes his head.

“Oh,” Newton says. “Uh. It’s…good.”

He shoves a chipped PPDC mug across the desk at Hermann.

“I made you tea,” he declares.

It’s black tea, according to the tag on the teabag, decaffeinated and with more milk than Hermann usually takes. “Oh—that’s considerate, Newton. Thank you,” he says, and reaches for the teacup he poured himself earlier. “But I’ve actually already got a cup right here." He takes a sip from his tea to make his point, which is a mistake: it’s cold as ice, and he spits it out all over the front of his sweater. Of course. _It's_ been sitting here for six hours, too. “ _Gah_.”

Newton reaches out with Hermann’s handkerchief (produced from who-knows-where) and wipes off his chin. He can’t seem to decide what to do with it or his hand afterwards, and both linger awkwardly by Hermann’s neck, while Newton himself avoids eye contact. “Uh,” he says. “I’ll rinse out your cup for you?”

Hermann nods, and trades the stale teacup for the handkerchief, which he then proceeds to use to blot at his damp sweater. He feels himself flushing; another kind gesture from Newton he’s managed to muck up. Newton must think he’s an idiot. “Thank you,” he says again, even as he cringes internally. Why is he so bloody tongue-tied lately? He and Newton always manage to _argue_ spectacularly. “Your tea looks lovely,” he adds, which is a lie. “Just how I like it.”

“Good,” Newton says. His face splits into a grin as Hermann chokes down a sip. “I’ll toss this in the sink and then we can go out for dinner or something? It’s way too late for you to still be working, man. And it’s _Friday_. That’s basically the weekend.”

“Jolly good,” Hermann says, aiming for light-hearted, but sounding far too earnest for his liking. He forces himself to drink more of the tea so he won’t have to watch for Newton’s reaction, which he's sure will be one of secondhand embarrassment, and sags with relief when he hears the unmistakable clunky footfalls of Newton’s boots as he walks away.

They lock up the laboratory for the night. It’s raining out, so Hermann dons his heavy parka, and Newton takes on the unenviable task of wielding their heavy and half-broken umbrella as they navigate their way to the bus stop nearest to the Shatterdome. The umbrella is large, but not large enough to fit them both without them sharing a _considerable_ amount of personal space. Halfway through the walk, Newton switches the umbrella into his left hand, and takes Hermann’s with his right; in his surprise (because they've held hands before, but never as _boyfriends_ ), Hermann fumbles his footing and nearly his cane, and staggers to a halt. Newton looks at him anxiously. “Are you okay?” he says.

Hermann can tell Newton is not just referring to the stumble. “Certainly,” he says. “Er. Would I not be?”

“I guess not,” Newton says. The corner of his mouth twitches up, though it's a shy smile.

On the bus, instead of choosing a seat in front of Hermann—as he typically would do in their excursions off of the base—Newton sits down directly next to Hermann. He’s close enough that their arms and knees knock together. After sitting there, unmoving, for some time, he tosses an arm about Hermann’s shoulders, and quickly looks in the other direction. Hermann does not burrow and hide in his parka like he so desperately wants to, though he does tuck his face in against Newton’s neck in the hopes of hiding his blush. (He’s far over-exceeded his estimated allowance of physical affection for the month, which is typically somewhere in the one percent range, with _public_ physical affection being close to zero. Geiszlerian unpredictably. It's why the spreadsheets never work.) “Sorry,” Newton mumbles, “I can stop if you—”

Hermann shakes his head, and, clearly pleased, Newton squeezes his upper arm.

The pizza place Newton often insists on getting takeaway from is packed when they make it there, likely with people desperate to get out of the rain, so they take shelter at a slightly larger ramen bar across the street they’re also fond of instead. They order separate entrees, but _do_ split a side order. (How terribly intimate.) “You look good today,” Newton says, twirling his chopsticks around the broth of his ramen.

“You’ve mentioned that already,” Hermann says. “Though I believed you used the word _different_.”

“Only ‘cause you did first,” Newton says. “Did you notice that I cleaned the lab?”

Hermann did not; Hermann was so absorbed by his work on his computer today that he scarcely noticed anything beyond the occasional email alert popping up in the bottom righthand corner. He can’t even remember if he’s put anything substantial in his body since breakfast. (Though, if the ravenousness with which he’s eaten his ramen so far is any clue, he’d say no.) “You did?” he says.

Newton nods. “I did all the dishes in the sink,” (Hermann decides not to point out that they were all Newton’s dishes), “ _and_ I mopped up all the kaiju gunk I spilled by your chalkboards. And kinda…on your chalkboards.”

Hermann sets down his chopsticks, and narrows his eyes. “You spilled—?"

“Only a little bit!” Newton assures him. “And it’s all clean now. Because I cleaned it. I didn’t want you to be stressed or anything so we could have a nice time. Wasn't that awesome and thoughtful of me? Ha.”

Hermann scowls. Newton doesn’t see it, because he’s started flipping through the menu again. “Hey, you wanna split some buns for dessert?”

The rain has let up by the time they finish dessert, negating the need for their umbrella, but they stay close on their walk back to their bus stop anyway. Newton swings their linked hands back and forth; mollified by the nice dinner and Newton having picked up the check, Hermann allows it. He likes the warmth of Newton’s skin against his anyway. He also like how close they're standing. “Are you feeling, like, wooed and shit?” Newton suddenly says.

“I beg your pardon?” Hermann says.

“Wooed,” Newton says. “I Googled wooing tips. But, like, I didn’t actually use the word _wooing_ , because that’d be weird, but you know what I mean. Dating tips. Showing someone you like them. You know, since we’re dating?”

Boyfriends. “Oh,” Hermann says. He’s surprised at Newton’s thoroughness; researching appropriate courtship techniques would not be out of character for Hermann, but Newton tends to approach everything with far more…impulsivity. Hermann appreciates the gesture. “Yes, we are.”

“So do you?” Newton says.

“Do I what?” Hermann says.

“Feel wooed,” Newton says.

Hermann considers it. The flowers were nice; the tea was permissible; the dinner pleasant; the handholding and compliments exceptional. He thinks that if were someone else (which is to say, someone who was far better at these sorts of things than Hermann is, and who didn't get flustered over sharing _food_ ) he might be inclined to invite Newton back to his quarters, like that first night that little while ago. He might still be inclined in spite of being himself, in fact. Newton looks far too endearing with his too-big hoodie and messy hair. Hermann wagers that he'd look even cuter with both when mussed up from sleep. “I suppose I do,” Hermann says.

“Good,” Newton says. “Because I was kinda out of ideas for other shit that wasn't making a Valentine out of kaiju intestines, and I don't think you would've liked that very much, if I'm being real.” He passes Hermann the umbrella to take with his free hand. Before Hermann can ask why, Newton grips onto the lapels of Hermann’s parka, rolls up on the tips of his boots, and kisses Hermann clumsily. It lands somewhere to the left of Hermann’s mouth. It’s pleasant nonetheless. “I wanted you to do that fucking _ages_ ago,” Newton says. “Guess you didn't get the hint, though.”

“My apologies,” Hermann breathes. He drops the umbrella and pulls Newton in by his tie to remedy his mistake.

**Author's Note:**

> as always, you can find me on tumblr at hermannsthumb and twitter at hermanngaylieb, where i post about newt and hermann a LOT


End file.
